


Your Cool Suburban Sun, You’re Fooling Everyone

by ahestele



Category: Eminem (Musician), John Mayer (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-30
Updated: 2003-11-30
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahestele/pseuds/ahestele
Summary: Harry can see things just fine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> FIC for Robbie Williams Lyric Hip-Hop Challenge
> 
> Dedication: This was for the few, the proud, the EmJohn slashers, but especially benzoyl, xoverau, now Nico, gilkurtis, and rubywisp. Didn't we have a time, y'all?

He didn’t know until he saw them, didn’t know until then why Marshall started bringing the tall, goofy-ass kid around, introducing him as just ‘John’. No one had ever really met the kid, but they’d seen Marshall talk to him at a few places; industry events mostly, and the recent awards ceremonies. Only Luis knew John had won a Grammy and had an album that debuted at number one. John had a wicked sense of humor, though, and said some funny shit, especially when he was stoned, and he played a mean blues guitar, which blew everyone away. Figured John had himself a little hero-worship going on, like Timberlake and Kirkpatrick; all them clean-cut white boys who secretly wanted to be badassess. He guessed the kid was okay, even if John’s eyes followed Marshall around like radar, no matter where in the room Marshall moved. Harry caught him staring once and got a lopsided, shy smile, roses blooming on the apple cheeks as John blushed, took another hit and finally looked at the person next to him as they spoke. 

Then he saw them. 

Half-fucked on Chivas and blunts he walked slowly around the mansion to clear his head, avoiding groping hands and offers of more shit. He wasn’t down with that. Didn’t need to be. He’d done that before, when Marshall first blew up. Mountains of blow, cases of Krystal, and more free, fine pussy than he’d ever seen, all rolled by the record company. It was all good, but it felt strange; like he was taking something he didn’t know the price for yet. Now that Kobe got himself a trial for tapping some bitch that followed him to his bedroom, Harry stepped a lot more careful. He’d just needed some movement to get his head cleared, when he heard a noise from down a hall, a low moan, desperate and almost silent. He turned. 

The hallway had little light but Harry could still see. 

Marshall leaned between the tall kid’s legs, hand down John’s unzipped pants, jacking him in slow, deliberate strokes that made Harry’s dick jump in sympathy. They kissed like they were drowning in slow motion, eager, but fluid, desperate, flashes of wet pink tongue and Marshall pulled on the red, swollen lips gently, eyes closed. The kid made a sound, helpless and raw. 

Harry ducked behind the wall on instinct, chafing his erection against his boxers, all the blood rushing to his cock as he watched Marshall tongue fuck John against the wall. He realized he could have stood there and they probably wouldn’t notice, caught up in each other, blind to everything.

Marshall clenched his fingers in the messy dark hair, tilted the kid’s head to expose a long, creamy line of neck and his best friend mouthed it, sucking and kissing while he jacked slow, slow, and steady. John arched into the touch, big hands on Marshall’s hips, baby blue track suit fisted so Harry could see the white of his knuckles even from here. 

“Marshall…,” broken whisper, a hand searched blindly for the bottom of Marshall's shirt and slipped underneath. The touch seemed to burn Marshall and he jumped, leaned closer, burrowing in the curve of neck, and Harry was so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“What do you want, John?” Harry’s dick gave another jump at the sound of Marshall’s voice, low, hungry, dripping with sex, and he’d never heard that, no. Not when they fucked bitches side by side in a car in the D, not when they could hear Marsh going at it with some groupie on the bus, not that split open, bare need. 

“What do you want?” The boy cradled Marshall’s face, eyes closed, a full lower lip caught between his teeth so that Marsh soothed the mark with a lick, a slow, intimate move. The kid’s eyes opened in slo-mo, everything was in slo-mo, must be the weed and Harry felt something else when Marshall gave John a little open-mouthed kiss, no tongue, but it made the boy sigh, caress Marshall’s face with his thumbs. 

“You.” The word whispered into Marshall’s lips, helpless and low and his best friend smiled so tender and unguarded it hurt Harry’s eyes. “I want you.”

“Right here.” Marshall’s hand got serious, harder strokes and the boy gasped, head thrown back. Marshall’s tongue followed the bump of Adam’s apple, dipping into the hollow at his throat. 

“God, Marshall I l….”

Marsh quickly covered the kid’s mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, pulling a moan from the full lips, and Harry felt a mean flare of satisfaction that Marsh didn’t want to hear that, stopped the kid from saying that. Yet when they parted the look they shared made Harry’s stomach flip and wasn’t he a thick motherfucker, yo. 

He’d never seen Marsh with any bitch like this, lost in them, a bare wound with no protection. The kid didn’t need to say it. Marshall stopping him didn’t make it not true. 

“Show me how much.” Marshall whispered, hand going to town and the kid clutched at Em’s shoulders, hips rising to meet each stroke, a string of sharp gasps spilling from the full lips. “Yeah, show me…”

A choked sob muffled into Marshall’s neck and John shuddered powerfully, hands spasming fistfuls of track suit, legs trembling.

Harry hadn’t realized he’d been clutching his dick through his loose jeans in a tight, fisted grip. He panted silently, unable to tear his stare away. John’s dark head lifted a little, the kid still making those raw, needy noises and Marsh kissed him hard, straining into the tall body, rubbing his hips forward in a frantic rhythm. 

John’s long arms came around his best friend’s shoulders, helping the cadence. Their mouths fused together until John reached over and yanked the collar of Marshall’s hoodie aside revealing a stretch of neck and that mound of muscle that rose firm between Marshall’s shoulder and clavicle. The bow lips nuzzled it, Harry could see flashes of teeth where John nipped, and Marshall’s moves became more desperate. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” His friend’s hoarse, disoriented whisper could barely be heard, hidden as it was beneath John’s own breathing, but Harry heard. He could hear everything, could see everything in the shadowed hallway, clear as day. “John, fuck…”

“Sssh, I’m here,” John mumbled in Marsh’s red ear, never losing the rhythm of the strokes Marshall pushed against him, large hands on Marshall’s hips, helping, lifting. Marshall froze suddenly, gasping sharply into John’s shoulder and Harry pulled on himself once without realizing, and came so fast he bit his lip bloody to keep from making a sound. Tremors raced through him as he trembled, never tearing his eyes away. 

They were kissing now, slow and light brushes of lips, John’s arms still securely around Marshall. 

“We should go.” John mumbled finally, just as Harry was getting his senses back. “Your friends will see us and kick my ass.”

“Yeah, they would.” Marshall agreed with a sleepy smile, and then said in a fake prissy voice, “I’ll protect your honor, John.”

“Yeah.” John kind of rolled his eyes but Marshall reached out and cupped John’s chin, expression serious all of a sudden. 

“Yeah.” They looked at each other for a minute, stare so blistering Harry felt his stomach jump. “Big-headed fucker.” Marshall added with a smirk, and John grinned back.

“Pointy-nosed asshole.”

“Nerd.”

“Shorty.”

“Yo, fuck you!”

“Ssshhh!” John shushed, laughing and Harry watched them fall into each other, laughing in quiet chuffs as zippers were pulled up and pants were adjusted. He saw them kiss once more, fall into it deep, and part breathless. 

“Come on.” Marshall’s eyes were glittering, even in the dim light. 

John shook his head looking exasperated but let Marshall thread their fingers and pull him down the hall. “You REALLY want to get me killed, right?”

“Everyone’s asleep, dog. ‘Sides, no one goes in my bedroom without knocking.”

“Okay, not comforting.”

But they were already retreating down the hall, laughing and whispering like teen-agers.

Harry turned to lean against the wall and slid down, hand still on the damp crotch of his jeans, staring into space. Kept remembering how they looked together, how Marshall looked at John. Dumb motherfucker had gone and fallen in love with the goofy-ass kid. Marshall probably didn’t even realize he had. 

But Harry knew. He knew that look on Marshall’s face because once upon a time Marshall looked at him that way after they kissed. Marshall held him that way when they fucked. 

It had been a long time ago now, before record contracts and bling, and world wide tours. Before movies and the Oscar and even Hailie. 

But Harry remembered that look, yeah. He did remember that.

He sat there and remembered for a long time.


End file.
